Canis Familiaris
by Paradoxically
Summary: After five months, Blaise and Luna's relationship is on the rocks and breaking up fast. He's callous; she's determined to teach him a lesson. Ginny is all too willing to contribute to Luna's cause, and Draco... well, he just keeps stepping right into the middle of things and suffering the consequences. DM/GW, BZ/LL
1. Chapter 1

Luna Lovegood was, when she was in a "mood", most certainly not a woman to be trifled with if one had any hopes for a peaceful life; her ethereal air vanished without a trace when she had been crossed. She had a tendency to become _very_ focused on the object of her ire in those moments. Unfortunately for Blaise Zabini, he was a man who didn't know when to quit—a right-fighter to the very end, he was most definitely the type to beat a dead horse when he had a point to prove. He also had a tendency to rely on his ability to talk his way out of almost anything. Luna seemed to have an unnatural resistance to that—as Blaise was learning all too well. A relationship that had been perfectly dignified and altogether tranquil rapidly descended into squabbling chaos sometime around the fifth month—and Draco Malfoy became an unwitting party in the rapid decay of his best friend's bliss when, one breezy morning in late autumn, he quite literally "popped" over to Blaise's to confirm all the details of Gregory Goyle's stag party that night. In the half-second it took him to settle his insides after apparating, a Wedgwood vase cracked him in the ear and clattered to the floor noisily. Dead—and deadly—silence was all that followed as he clapped one hand over the injured appendage, but judging by the fuming Luna on his right and the glowering Blaise on his right, he'd waltzed right into the middle of their latest altercation.

Perhaps it was that his grey matter had been a little rattled, and it could have been the sight of his own blood on his fingers when he pulled his hand from the side of his face, or maybe it was because he just didn't have that much experience interacting with a woman that he wasn't intent on charming into his bed, but "Bloody _hell_ , Blaise, is this how you let that harpy treat your friends?" slipped out before he could think better of it. He completely missed the icy flash of Luna's eyes, one that Blaise had become all too familiar with of late, as her face suddenly smoothed and her wand hand snapped up. He did register the wand pointed right at his chest, and the woman on the end of it with the dangerously flared nostrils—funny, that, noticing all the little things just a moment too late.

"Fine. If you want to be a dog like _him_ , go right on ahead. I won't stand for it," she sniffed, then Apparated with a harsh _crack._ Draco's eyebrows knit together in the middle of his forehead as he turned to his best friend, mouth open, surely ready to utter something else terrible.

It was probably for the best that Blaise, in a fit of pique, Stunned Draco in that moment, before he could ask what exactly she meant by that.

Yes, Draco _definitely_ needed to notice those little things a _bit_ sooner.

Ginny Weasley knew the drill all too well by this time—that frenzied knocking on her door meant that Luna had appeared at her flat. Her eyes would be fierce with rage, but that never prevented her from bursting into bewildered tears sometime before the end of the night after giving voice to her hurt. It always amazed Ginny that Blaise could make her best friend lose her ethereal composure with little to no effort at all. No one else had ever affected Luna quite the same way, which was exactly why Ginny was convinced that the two were soul mates. Privately, she thought that Luna's imperturbable aura was just a way to keep others at arm's length—and it was good for her to let someone past that. With a sigh—she'd really been hoping for a quiet night tonight—she drew back the bolt on the door and swung it open. For just a moment, Luna looked to be her detached, unruffled self, but burst into tears with a tiny wail as soon as Ginny opened her arms for a hug. Shushing her softly, Ginny pulled Luna over to her comfortable broken in sofa and detached herself with a slightly soggy _squelch_ to fetch the tissues. This wasn't good. Waterworks were supposed to wait until at least an hour in, right about the time that Ginny broke open a hand-packed quart of Florean Fortescue's Triple Chocolate Mayhem, complete with Chocolate Frog garnish (childishly, they always named the frog Blaise and proceeded to chase it down with spoons before putting the enchanted chocolate out of its misery).

.And Luna was not a pretty crier—her whole face seemed to dissolve and melt. Merlin knew she usually went through enough tissues to make it look like a blizzard had rolled through Ginny's living quarters every time she had a tiff with Blaise. But this time, Ginny was genuinely worried. Luna and Blaise hadn't ended things, had they? Just last week, she'd been effervescently bubbly; delighted over some vacation he had planned for them to the habitat of some obscure (and possibly unreal) animal, and wasn't it such a good sign, that he knew her interests and _listened_? Ginny was sure that her friend loved Blaise, and though she was less sure of Blaise's feelings, he surely had some inkling of how wonderful Luna was… didn't he?

As Ginny sat next to her friend, Luna drew her knees up into her chest and let her long hair spill over her shoulder. She fixed Ginny with an unnaturally clear gaze as Ginny proffered the first tissue. "I don't know what to do now," she whispered, leaning her head on Ginny's shoulder and blowing her nose heartily. One tear trickled slowly down her cheek.

Something in the region of Ginny's heart cracked. This was not Luna, this defeated, heart-broken creature. "Well, why don't you tell me what happened and I'll see if I can't come up with something?" Ginny said, injecting a false amount of cheer into the statement. She poked Luna in the ribs with one bony elbow in a bid to win a smile. "I'll even be the judge and jury for you. Let's see if Blaise deserves to have his balls fricasseed or maybe something more creative. I'm not a Weasley for nothing!" A bare shadow of a dimple showed itself in Luna's cheek.

And so Ginny teased and prodded her friend into a better mood, laying it on thick enough for Luna to finally giggle just a bit. And that was reason enough to break out the wine and chocolate, which in turn led to some very interesting conversations. Somewhere after the second bowl of ice cream and before the third glass of wine, Luna started to spill the beans—and found herself utterly unable to stop.

"I told him I loved him, and he didn't say a thing, Ginny, not a _thing_! For a minute I thought he must have stumbled into a nest of Nargles, but then he opened his mouth and told me that no, no, I didn't love him, how could I possibly? I hadn't known him long enough!" Luna huffed, her cheeks pinking with anger, before continuing sarcastically, "And he's right you know, we haven't been together that long, and of course I'm stupid for thinking that five months is long enough to know that I love him, how could I? And then he says that I should date other people. _Diversify_. We should be smart about this, date around and compare, like Draco _bloody_ Malfoy. Like a relationship is the same shopping for a- a new mattress or something!" Ginny couldn't help but snort in her glass at that, as she felt a secret sense of relief that Luna's vengeful ways had returned. _That,_ she knew how to handle. Ginny pulled a throw pillow into her lap, hiding her face so that Luna couldn't see the start of a smile on her friend's face as Luna continued on. "So of course we shouldn't be exclusive, because how could I possibly know him or anyone else well enough to know that this is it, how could I trust my own judgment when my head is always in the clouds? And then he didn't say a thing when Draco called me a harpy, seriously, a harpy Ginny, who the hell does he think he is?"

"Hold on, when did Draco show up into the middle of this?"

"Well, roughly about the same time that I threw one of Blaise's knick-knacks." There was that blithe, slightly dotty demeanor again. Luna was hiding something, and that Ginny knew for sure.

Ginny snorted again. "Seriously? And who were you throwing it at, Blaise or Draco? And Luna, did you forget all about your wand? You are a _witch_ , you know, and there are all these brilliant hexes..." Luna broke off that train of thought by dealing Ginny a heavy _thwap_ with the other throw pillow.

"I wasn't trying to _actually_ hit Blaise, but Draco just Apparated into the middle of everything, and it was already too late by then. And anyway, all men are dogs, so I'm convinced he deserved it anyway, giving Blaise ideas and all."

"Wait, what did you say?"

"That Draco gave Blaise ideas?"

"No, right before that, the bit about all men?" Ginny was alert now, on the verge of what the twins like to refer to as a "diabolical breakthrough."

"That all men are dogs?"

Ginny snapped her fingers and bounced up off the couch, eyes burning with purpose—and maybe a little too much alcohol. "That's it! That's his punishment—we'll turn him into a dog!"


	2. Bier und Wurst

Luna sank against the counter until she was level with the lip of Ginny's battered ("But well-loved!" she had insisted) old cauldron and peered into the mixture frothing happily away on Ginny's stove. Blue flames licked out from underneath the curved cast-iron belly as pearly blue bubbles rose to the surface and broke with a gentle _pop-pop_.

"You know, for a means of vengeance, this sure is a, well, _happy_ potion," Luna muttered, slightly sullen now that some of her sugar euphoria had worn off and a crying headache had set in. Ginny was humming happily, bouncing back and forth between three different books and one crackly, much folded collection of loose parchments. Judging by the torn, tattered, and just slightly burnt nature of the hand-written notes, Luna felt it was a safe bet that they had been handed down from the twins. A shiver traced its way down her spine—a slight bit of foreboding mixed with eager anticipation.

Ginny looked up at her friend, a single wrinkle marring her forehead. "Do you need something for a headache?"

"Mmm, no, 'fraid the problems a bit lower and more heart than head," Luna murmured, her eyes going glassy and unfocused.

"Aww, my poor Luna-Moona," Ginny crooned, patting Luna's head softly, still preoccupied with her notes.

Luna snorted indignantly, eyes clearing and gaze as sharp as her wit. "Aww, Ginny-Ninny," she mocked back.

Ginny laughed, the sound ringing out like a bell. "Point taken. Save the mothering for someone who wants to be coddled. Got it. Now be useful and come over here and stir the potion. Three times clockwise, fifteen leaves of dogfennel, crushed, then anti-clockwise ten times."

"You're adapting the recipe for Canary Creams, aren't you?" Luna mused, taking her position over the cauldron. "How long do you think it will last though?"

"Right in one, you certainly weren't sorted into Ravenclaw for nothing. I think it should last about a week, give or take a day. Long enough for him to miss being a human, I'd say. Though what exactly are we going to do with our new Fido?"

"Mm, I vote for shared custody, mainly so I don't get soft on him. And embarrassing sweaters, the kind with the little bobbly bits and say horrific things like 'Mummy's little angel' and all that."

"Rhinestone collars and gaudy leashes, I definitely support that. Wonder what breed he'll turn into though."

Luna cocked her head to the side, contemplative. "You mean you're not just going to turn him into a yappy little ball of fuzz of a predetermined size and type?"

"Nope, what's the fun in that?" Ginny's grin was wicked now. "What breed of dog he turns into will reveal something about his nature. Lemon balm and chamomile to calm, blue forget me not to remember who he is no matter what the form, winter cherry to stabilize his mood, and just a hint of wormwood in case this all upsets his poor tummy," she sang, adding in the last of the powdered ingredients and motioning Luna to stir again. The resulting mixture turned dark, settling into a soft warm brown. Ginny listed a brimming ladle, letting it trickle back into the cauldron. "Perfect. Because it's just the color of a dog's eyes." Her eyes cut to meet Luna's gaze impishly. "And didn't you say that Blaise never could resist a good chocolate truffle?"

It was late, and everything was horrible, just completely and terribly horrible, according to Draco. He'd been stuck on Goyle watch—"Not babysitting," he had sneered at Blaise, "because babysitting is _infantile_ "—which was no easy task, given that they'd dropped themselves right down in the middle of Oktoberfest (something else that Draco dubbed "utterly stupid", given that it was actually September). No one had descended into debauchery, but it was rather like letting a small child loose in a candy shop—Goyle had run here and there, delighted that his two great wishes had been fulfilled ("Just good beer and good food, and no strippers or I'll get left at the altar," were the only guidelines he had set for Blaise and Draco) and several times Draco had lost him in the crowds. Chasing him down frequently meant leaving off flirting with a pretty woman to run after his lumbering oaf of a friend. Hardly Draco's preferred activity. And then, while the return Portkeys had been worked out and functioned perfectly at the end of the night, whisking their small party (and plenty of beer and wurst) back to Zabini manor's front hall right on time, he had forgotten to account for one little thing—the side effect of Portkeying on a stomach full to the brim with alcohol.

Goyle had been the first to lose his stomach, retching the second his feet touched the ground. Unfortunately for Draco and his favorite pair of loafers, Goyle's aim was completely lacking. The slimy feeling in his socks and the queasy heaving of his own stomach had him waving his wand with great haste—and in addition to the shoes and the terrible mess, he managed to Vanish his own trousers.

Blaise crowed with laughter, nearly falling down at the sight of Draco clad in just shirt and pants, his pale legs shining like a beacon in the dark of the hall. Goyle and his two work cronies joined in as well, 'til everyone was lying in one great laughing heap—well, everyone except Draco.

Well, that was quite enough, Draco thought, storming off towards the guest rooms. He didn't even feel bad as he knicked the box of chocolates from the foyer table for later.

After all, it was the least Blaise could give him after what he'd been put through.

Also published on FIA- if you're a D&G fan, you definitely need to check it out.


	3. Insolent Boy-o

The wedding itself had gone off without a hitch—the bride was glowing, the groom sobered up in time for the ceremony, and all the old matrons had shed an obligatory tear when the two were pronounced man and wife, witch and wizard. Goyle's mother had absolutely bawled her eyes out. Blaise had to suppress a laugh when he realized that Goyle's eyes were glassy with tears and settled for elbowing the best man instead; unfortunately for Draco, that was him, and Blaise had the absolute sharpest elbows known to wizardkind.

And Draco? Draco had just barely made it through the whole affair without fidgeting right out of his skin. Standing silent at Goyle's shoulder, remembering to hand over the rings at the right moment, and then posing for photos was an exercise in slow, prolonged torture. The photos were especially bad—he was sure that, in the fully developed shots, his photographic self would be flashing a smirk, then trying to escape the frame. He was sure the new Mrs. Goyle—he'd already forgotten her first name-wasn't going to be too pleased with that.

She probably wasn't going to be too pleased when she discovered that he planned on ducking out shortly after his best man's speech either.

Not that it mattered. He was going to make plenty of people unhappy tonight anyway. He didn't have any patience for the curiosity he knew he'd have to face tonight, with everyone looking, looking and wondering at his shirtsleeves, buttoned all the way down to his wrists when nearly everyone else in the wedding party had already shed their jackets and rolled their sleeves up to the elbow. He'd already determined that he would be insufferably rude, since that was what it would take to get them to shut their fat gobs. Inappropriate questions always following the impertinent gazes. It didn't even matter that he would not be the only one disfigured with the fading grey scar. If anything, it made it worse that there were others there, with a shared past that he had no desire to remember, even as he knew that he could never be free of it. Walking into the reception, he reflected that the fact on this was a mixed crowd, half people who knew his past and half people who had only heard the rumors, was not at all to his benefit.

Well, not unless you knew how to work an air of mystery like Blaise Zabini did, he reflected—Draco pulled a chair into a dark corner intending to stay hidden until the bride and groom made their big entrance and watched his friend flit about, ever the social maven, leaving women sighing and staring in his wake.

Bloody lucky bastard, that one. His past didn't haunt, didn't hang around his neck like a rotting albatross. And Blaise wasn't even going to take advantage of the fact that he had the attention of nearly every woman in the room, no matter what he had said when he was out with the guys last night; Blaise was just that hung up on Luna. Draco would lay down good gold that Blaise would have made the first overture towards reconciliation by Monday morning. And as far as Draco could tell, Blaise was going to be the next one walking down the aisle, and probably doing it inside of a year at that. Gods, what was wrong with his friends? Next there would be little miniature versions of each of his friends toddling around and he'd be overwhelmed by the snot-nosed little whelps. Blaise's manipulative little brats were going to be the absolute worst.

Draco snorted at the thought. This entire affair was making him morose and much too contemplative. The sooner he was out of here and back to Blaise's to collect his things, the better.

He shelved his thoughts for the moment and stood, stalking towards his friend. If he was going to be miserable, he wanted company.

And so he passed most of the night pestering Blaise, occasionally heading back to the bar for another glass of champagne. He found himself forced out onto the dance floor a few times, twice by a nattering old woman with enough wrinkles and mustache to make a walrus proud. She'd called him an "insolent boy-o" and smacked him in the ankle with her walking stick when he'd smarted off, much to Blaise's amusement. Judging by the bruise already rising on his left ankle, the old woman hadn't lost any of her muscle tone. He was never going to live that down, but he made it through—through that, and the rest of the night, including the short and simple speech ("Make her happy, Greg—don't do anything that I would. To the newlyweds!") and made good on his escape, leaving the party before it had even begun to wind down.

He sighed as he stomped back through Blaise's foyer and to his semi-permanent guest room. It was a testament to the quality of Blaise's house elves that the room was near to immaculate, despite the fact that he'd left it in complete disarray. His laundry was already pressed and neatly folded into his leather valise, which had also been neatly polished. He was halfway through changing into more casual clothes when he noticed that the only thing that was out of place was the small gold-foil box that he'd knicked from the entry table last night—now was as good a time as any to partake, he figured. He pulled the ribbon on the package and flipped back the lid to find four chocolate truffles resting in paper nests. He popped the first in his mouth, savoring the sweet rush. It was an unusual combination, the sharpness of lemon breaking through the richness of the chocolate, tempered with…was that chamomile and wormwood? Oddly good. He pulled the second truffle out of the box nearly as soon as he'd finished the first, and it was halfway down his throat before he registered that his stomach was giving an odd gurgle.

Huh. Maybe he should have eaten more with the champagne. It didn't deter him from snagging the third and fourth truffles, throwing them in the air and catching them in his mouth as he reached for his valise. His fingers slid off of the leather as a strange wrenching sensation hit somewhere near his thumb; he looked down and squealed in a most unmanly fashion to see his fingers receding into his palms and a thick growth of hair spreading over his skin. In fact, the whole world seemed to be receding, except for his nose, which was growing at an exponential rate and absolutely _furry_.

This was not good.

Dropping to all fours, Draco was overcome by a shivering sensation as his limbs rearranged themselves with a series of unsettling pops and cracks that ripped through his body. Before it even registered if he was in pain or not, it was all over. He shook his head, trying to force it all to make sense—and then he caught a glance of himself in the full-length floor mirror. Where his sleek, toned physique had been moments ago was a huge, leggy _dog_ with messy pale fur and oddly grey eyes. Still in Draco's pants and with Draco's socks falling down around his paws. Damn.

Someone was going to have to pay for this.


End file.
